


You are my destiny

by Lumeriel



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dysfunctional Family, Elves coexist with humans and other races, F/M, Finarfin's not Fingolfin's brother or Fëanor's, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-05-24 05:05:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14948115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeriel/pseuds/Lumeriel
Summary: Despite being two of the most important elves in the society, Féanor Finwion - owner of Industrias Formenos - and Fingolfin Indisirion - leader of the Integrationist Party - do not frequent the same circles; in fact, they even avoid seeing each other. But it seems that destiny has different plans when their children do not stop tripping over each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *** WARNING ---At some point, there will be references to rape, underage, violence, incest ... so I am warning from the beginning because I am too lazy to remember to do it before each chapter...***
> 
> **Now, to understand each other better:  
> In this universe, the elves coexist with humans, dwarves and hobbits. There are purely elven nations and others in which other races are allowed to inhabit. There are also all the countries we know today.  
> The Integrationist Party, led by Fingolfin Indisirion, advocates the integration of humans and elves, being the most revolutionary wing within Elvish politics.  
> I will add more details as I develop the story: until now I have only focused on the relationships between the boys and a little of their personal history.

Maedhros took a sip of coffee and grimaced: too much sugar, almost grumbling out loud. He set the glass aside to focus again on the screen of his laptop. The graphics delivered by the new intern in his father's company were over-colored and made his eyes ache. After a few minutes comparing the numbers gathered by himself with those collected by the girl, he leaned back with a sigh of impatience as he raised his glasses to his forehead. Mechanically, he grabbed the coffee; but before drinking, he left it on the table again, clucking his tongue in disgust. In that instant, he saw Maglor approaching on the street while talking animatedly with two more elves. Maedhros knew Daeron - the best friend and sometimes the strongest competition of his brother -; but he had no idea who the other was.

The trio stopped before entering the cafeteria and Maedhros took the opportunity to study his brother's new friend. It really was a beautiful thing: unlike the other two, he wore his hair short, exposing pointed ears adorned with gold pins. He wore a leather jacket over a blue shirt and dark trousers that were lost in unadorned black boots. Golden highlights illuminated his black hair, accentuating the brightness of his blue eyes. The guy was very handsome, though a little young for Maedhros' taste: probably Curufin's age at most.

Meanwhile, Maglor said goodbye to his companions and entered the establishment, ringing the bell at the door. Without hesitation, he went to the table occupied by his older brother, greeting the clerk as he passed.  
\- Have you already asked for something? - he asked as he let himself fall into the chair while opening his jacket.  
\- Only coffee. Do you want to eat here? I have to return to Formenos before three and I'm supposed to have these reports reviewed for tomorrow's meeting.  
\- Father had not got a new intern for that?  
\- The girl does not seem the cleverest in the world and I think he only hired her because Celegorm insisted until he was dizzy.  
\- What about Caranthir?  
Maedhros only raised his eyebrows and Maglor laughed.  
\- Who is your new friend? - The redhead released point blank.  
\- Finno? He’s the new producer.  
\- Are you kidding? – he was surprised -. He’s too young.  
\- He graduated three years ago. He was in France and Spain, I heard, before he had to return for ... Do you remember the case of the girl who was kidnapped five years ago and appeared a matter of a year ago?  
\- Yes ... - Maedhros frowned, not understanding the change of subject.  
\- It's his younger sister.  
\- Hells - the older one muttered.

He remembered the case. Everyone remembered it: the news was in all the media. Aredhel Fingolfiniel had disappeared after leaving school. She was barely a teenager and alarms had jumped across the country. The girl's father was the principal partner of Indisirion Inc. and one of the most prominent politicians of the Integrationist Party. It was believed that it was a political coup aimed at the maximum defender of the integration between elves and humans, something probably devised by extremist groups; but when none claimed the fact, the possibility of a kidnapping for money began to be handled. It was not the first time that the family of Fingolfin Indisirion was affected by the misfortune: two years before, the wife of the second son had died in an attack, leaving a scarce years’ girl orphan. However, there was no ransom note nor did the kidnappers show interest in negotiating. After three years, the search for the girl had been abandoned and some gave her up for dead. A year ago, the media had returned to be interested when Aredhel appeared at the door of his father's offices, half naked and carrying a child of just over a year and a half. Fingolfin hastened to stop the harassment of the media, declaring in a press conference that her daughter was well, that she would not be subjected to the morbid curiosity of others and that there was nothing more to declare. The girl had not been seen in public after her dramatic appearance. But what most impressed Maedhros in the case was that the day they reported the return of Aredhel, Fëanor had listened to the report until the end and then murmured, with a sigh of relief: "Thanks to Eru." Why Fëanor Finwion was interested in the unfolding of that story, was something that Maedhros could not guess.

\- It must have been horrible for his family -, he comment, distracted.  
\- Finno does not talk much about the subject. In fact, **he does not talk about the subject**. From what I understand, the girl takes it pretty well taking into account ... everything and the child is wonderfully well.  
\- He's her son, I suppose.  
\- Finno refers to him as his nephew, so ... I think they have a kindergaden in that house - the musician half-smiled.  
\- How do you say?  
\- From what I heard from Daeron, all the children live with them: the daughter of the younger brother, the boy of Aredhel and the son of Finno.  
\- Wao -, Maedhros muttered, unexpectedly uncomfortable -. So, the boy has not wasted time: married, a son and a producer ... all recently graduated.  
\- Yes to a musical producer and to a son; not to **married**. It was a one-time thing and the mother disappeared leaving the baby in the crib. I think the famous politician has a weakness for children - joked Maglor, amused.  
\- Usually happens to grandparents. You've seen how Father gets with Celebrimbor.  
\- Sure! For how much he would have allowed any of us to do the things that little boy does.  
\- He allowed Curufin do them. - Maedhros recalled. - So, have we had lunch? You have not stopped talking since you arrived.  
\- It was you who asked me about Finno - Maglor defended himself and before his older brother could reply, called the waitress.  
Maedhros bit his tongue; but an hour later, when he was driving to Formenos, he remembered how well the leather jacket looks in the producer of his brother's show. And tight pants, by the way.


	2. Chapter 2

Maedhros climbed the steps in two jumps. A smile curved his mouth, which as usual, got all those who crossed with him turn to look at him a second - and a third - time. Maedhros Fëanorion was possibly the most beautiful creature created by Eru, according to general opinion. To an unusual height, he united the perfect proportion of his body and the exquisiteness of his features. To make matters worse, he had inherited the hair of his maternal grandfather: an abundant copper red hair that fell to his waist in thick natural loops. Dressed in an elegant obsidian-green suit, it was the epitome of elven beauty that the media sold as a sign of racial superiority.  
Quickly, he crossed the backstage area, rushing in the direction of his second brother's cabin. Once again, Maglor's concert had been an absolute success, with an attendance that threatened to break records. Fans of both races had gathered in Himring Square to enjoy the talent of the best live musician. Maedhros was eager to congratulate his brother: he was the only one who could attend. With the twins in the Navy, Celegorm training for the Summer Games, Caranthir on business and Curufin still recovering from his divorce, the eldest of the Fëanorions was the only family support at the concert; but the most appreciated too. Maglor and he had always been closer than the rest.  
The redhead pushed the door of the dressing room without knocking and found his brother sitting in front of the mirror, taking off the jewels that plaited his dark hair.

\- How does it feel to be the best musician in the world?  
\- Exhausting - Maglor snorted, without his expression of supposed annoyance deceiving Maedhros. – Did you like it?  
\- Is that even worth asking?  
\- Yeah -, replied the musician turning on the sidewalk -. I will need to remember it when I get home and _Atar_ explains me all the mistakes I made.  
\- Yes, because he knows a _horror_ of music.  
\- Exactly. Oh! Here’s my hero! - Maglor exclaimed, standing up to receive someone.

Maedhros turned around and discovered the music producer standing in the doorway, holding a bottle of wine and two glasses in his hands. This time, Finno dressed in white and blue, too elegant and at the same time, attractive enough for the Fëanorion to get away from it.

Maglor went to the newcomer and embraced him effusively.

\- This, Maedhros, is the best producer I've ever had - he said, smiling -. He can read my mind, you know? When I want something, he already guessed.  
\- Well, now I did not guess you had a visit -, raised a black eyebrow the aforementioned.

Maedhros swallowed, enjoying the sound of that voice. Heavens! It had really been a while since someone had attracted him like that. In fact, nobody had ever attracted him in this way: since he saw him on the street, talking with Maglor, he had not managed to get the image of the new music producer out of his head. He barely restrained himself from questioning Maglor about him. He had a son, so that ruled out that he was gay. _Or maybe not?_ , he considered when he perceived that the other was observing him without dissimulation.

\- Sorry -, Maglor apologized at that moment, removing the bottle and the glasses from Finno -. This is my older brother, Maedhros Fëanorion, future manager of Formenos Industries and heir of the family empire. Mae, I officially introduce you to Fingon Fingolfinion, my savior, my hero and the elf of my life.  
\- I thought that was me - the red-haired frowned as he extended a hand towards the other elf.  
\- You've already gone out of fashion. You were totally and absolutely overcome by Finno.  
\- Until tomorrow -, Fingon said, in a funny tone.  
\- What? - Maedhros stammered, believing that he was saying goodbye.  
\- I got over you until tomorrow, when I'll become his boss again. Then, I will be the worst elf in the world and he will want to skin me twice per hour.  
\- I see you know him well. You did a magnificent job.  
Fingon made a mock curtsy of gratitude and took the glass that Maglor handed him.  
\- You’ll dine with us, right, Finno? - Maglor said delivering the second cup to his brother for him to drink straight from the bottle.  
\- I'm sorry -, Fingon shook his head -. I promised Dad that I would go home as soon as the concert was over.  
\- What are you? A teenager? - complained the musician.  
\- No, a family’s father. And my father has a case to prepare for tomorrow. We have to organize ourselves to be able to do everything.  
\- Okay, - growled Maglor -. Do not whine: be a good father. Another day will be.  
\- Insurance. For your success, Maglor Fëanorion.

The three drank after toasting. As soon as he had emptied his glass, Fingon said goodbye again and left. Maedhros forced himself to make a simple gesture with his head while pretending to concentrate on his drink.

\- Another day will be - Maglor sighed once they were alone -. Do not whine, Maedhros.  
\- What? - the older one was startled.  
Maglor pouted and smiled meanly.  
\- I say _do not whine_ : you'll see him again. I have his number, you know?  
\- I have no idea what you're talking about, Macalaurë, - replied Maedhros, using the name in Quenya as he did whenever he got upset.  
\- Well, you should be more discreet: you wanted to eat him with your eyes. I think you came to drool a little.  
.............  
Fingon entered Gil's room quietly and approached the bed. The child slept peacefully, the black curls spilling on the pillow like an aureole for the apple-shaped face. The young elf smiled tenderly and leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. He withdrew from the same silent form, carrying in one hand the shoes he removed before entering the child's bedroom.  
Light coming from under the door of his father's office indicated that he was still working. He called softly and entered.  
Fingolfin looked up from the computer screen and smiled at his son through the gold-rimmed glasses.  
\- You look like an old human with those lenses -, joked Fingon, dropping into one of the upholstered armchairs.  
\- Some would think it's a political trick -, shrugged his father before taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. - How was your night? All good?  
\- Perfect. The collection must have been enormous. Tomorrow we will have the numbers and Maglor was exultant with joy. I think we will continue working together.  
Fingolfin just nodded and Fingon thought he must be really tired to not protest.  
\- Are not you going to object? - He asked after a few minutes of trying to contain himself.  
\- Will it be useful? – Half-smiled the politician and when his son smiled back, they almost looked just as young.  
\- No, it won’t; but that has not stopped you before. It certainly didn’t stop you when I told you about it a month ago.  
\- I already raised my opinion about it: you are capable of making your own decisions.  
-Last time you said that, I got entangled with a girl who left me with a newborn baby.  
\- I don’t think Maglor Fëanorion is going to leave you with a boy in diapers - Fingolfin raised his eyebrows.  
Fingon laughed, relaxing. It was great to see his father joke for once: since the abduction of Aredhel, Fingolfin had changed from a fun, enterprising and loving male to an overprotective, tense and focused father. Aredhel’s return had only accentuated his new personality. Fingolfin was extremely controlling with his grandchildren’s life and after Turgon launched to travel to forget the loss of Elenwë, Fingon had borne the burden of parental overprotection.  
\- No, I do not think so either - accepted Fingon, with a distracted tone, remembering instead the handsome older brother of the musician.  
Fingolfin furrowed his black straight brows, sensing the change in his mood.  
\- Fingon,- he called, -you're not falling in love with that musician, are you?-  
No! - exclaimed the younger, confused; but then he became serious -. If so, would it be a problem, Dad?  
Fingolfin laced his fingers on the table and lowered his head, breathing deeply.  
\- No, Findekáno - he said after a few seconds and almost winced when he noticed that his firstborn let out a sigh of relief -. I already told you that I would prefer that we keep as little contact as possible with that family for ... for reasons related to my political work; but ... if you choose to have a relationship with one of them, I ... I'll accept it. Just ... just let me remind you that it's not good to mix business and pleasure. It would be better if you and Maglor were just co-workers and not bed-partners. For the sake of your collaboration.  
\- I'll keep it in mind, dad -, Fingon reassured him, standing up and going to his side to kiss him on the temple -. It's not like I'm _dying_ to jump at his neck, after all. And Maglor is half... gone from the pot, - he said as he went to the door.  
\- It seems to be from family - murmured Fingolfin; but his son did not listen to him.  
Fingolfin let out his breath in a deep exhalation and leaned back in the chair, telling himself that fate played tricks. Screams of fright forced him to jump out of the seat and run to Aredhel's room.


	3. Chapter 3

Maedhros entered the office and dropped down behind the desk, with a sigh of fatigue. Meetings always exhausted his energies more than a whole morning of climbing. Only luck was that his father had stopped taking care of the administrative part, leaving it in the hands of Maedhros and Caranthir while he concentrated on his projects. Fëanor Finwion was adept at many things; but generally he was more a dreamer than an businessman His appearances by the company almost always ended up complicating everything because, each of his ideas - although great - entailed such drastic changes that employees and associates were more frightened than excited.  
For eight years, Maedhros had taken over the management of Formenos Industries and when Caranthir graduated, he decided to work with him. Although Fëanor was officially the president, it was his sons who managed the company. However, sometimes it was not possible to get rid of the intervention of the genius and wonderful father who was Fëanor Finwion.

Maedhros grimaced: something that could not be denied to the genius was that he would do anything for his children ... even hire a useless intern just because one of his children finds her beautiful. Luckily, Caranthir was still traveling. Maedhros only dared to imagine the reaction his undiplomatic brother would have had if he had been present at the meeting that morning.

The cell phone vibrated, moving over the glass and steel table, and Maedhros smiled as he checked the screen.  
\- Were you watching the clock to see what time the meeting ended? - He asked in greeting mode.  
\- It has just finished? - Asked Caranthir -. I thought you would be having lunch already.  
\- You lie horribly, Morifinwë Carnistir - he scolded him.  
\- Which should be embarrassing for an administrator - admitted his brother -. What took so long? It was a routine meeting, wasn’t it?  
\- The data was ... wrong.  
\- One or two bad numbers do not change the performance of an operation, Maitimo, - Caranthir snorted from the other side.  
\- All the data, Caranthir. That is, I had them well; but not our partners, so we were working with different projections.  
\- I see -. For a few seconds, Maedhros waited for him to add something else. - I'll be back tomorrow, so I'll be able to fix everything. It's night here, so ...  
\- Yes, rest. Eh ... Caranthir? Do not fight with father.  
\- And ... for not fighting, you mean do not tell him he cannot hire useless analysts just because his son wants to take them to bed, right?  
\- I'm sure you'll say it with less poetry. - said the eldest.  
\- I am certain that he would not understand otherwise. Do not worry: I'm not going to fight with father.  
\- All right…  
\- I'm going to crack Celegorm's head and I just hope that Curufin does not get in the way. Go to lunch and forget about that little girl for the rest of the day: I'll take care of it.  
\- How are the negotiations with Azaghâl going? - Maedhros asked before he hung up. - Have they given in something?  
\- The dwarves are ... complicated; but we have the same _lovely_ character: you don’t have to fear. We will have that deal before the end of the year ... How was Maglor’s concert?  
\- Divine, as always. He has a new music producer ... the boy is great ... very young; but talented. He made a great show for the concert and he has Maglor totally delighted.  
\- Aha. - Caranthir said suspiciously, causing Maedhros to stop at his enumeration of virtues.  
\- What? – he demanded.  
\- Nothing. Well ... I was going to ask you if _Maglor_ was in love with that paragon of virtues; but I see that the arrows went in another direction.  
\- Caranthir, I do not understand half of your human references, you know? - He grumbled, annoyed.  
\- Better that way: I have more fun. Will there be any chance of knowing that producer?  
\- I do not know. I guess Maglor is still working with him.  
\- Ah ... you have not taken the first step.  
Maedhros bit his lower lip.  
\- Am I so obvious? - he asked almost unhappily after a moment.  
\- You're being now. Call him and invite him to lunch.  
\- He has a son.  
\- Take Celebrimbor with you: it would be convenient for him to relate with other children and not only with his depressed father and his grandfather genius. The poor boy will end up with self-esteem problems or he will become bipolar. Good luck, Mae. See you tomorrow.  
After cutting with Caranthir, Maedhros stared at the phone, hesitating. Finally, he dialed a number.  
\- Maglor, hey! - he exclaimed when receiving an answer -. I finished a stressful meeting. Do you have time for a quick lunch? I can be there in fifteen minutes. Eh ... are you inviting Fingon? I would like to know him a little more.  
..................... ..  
Fingon felt a slight warmth in his stomach at seeing Maglor's brother. The truth, he had never had trouble recognizing the attractiveness of someone, regardless of sex or race. He had had human lovers and elves indistinctly, as well as both sexes. In his family it was never a problem towards you will direct your preferences. Although his parents were happily married for more than fifty years, Fingon knew that his father also did not have a defined sexual preference, but in his case - and due to his political career - he had limited himself a lot. In fact, after the divorce, Fingolfin had no official relationship ... or unofficial, if the young elf was going to be sincere. Similarly, Fingon knew that his brother Turgon did not pay attention to sex: that he fell in love with Elenwë was something that took everyone by surprise and when the romance became marriage, Anairë was about to burst with happiness. Fingolfin, on the other hand, had frowned, noting the resemblance between the chosen bride and the best friend of his second son, Finrod Felagund. Neither will Fingon miss the detail; but Turgon was an adult and capable of making his own decisions. In the case of Aredhel ... well, Aredhel was a delicate subject in which he preferred not to think right now, when he saw the prospect of a nice lunch with this beautiful Elven specimen ... and his stressful brother.  


\- Oh, thanks to Eru you called,- Maglor declared as soon as Maedhros sat down next to them. - Finno was about to cut my throat and hang me by the ankles so I could bleed until death.  
\- I do not have such an overflowed imagination - the accused raised his eyebrows -. I only got to hit you with the harp and hide the body in one of the horns.  
\- Fair -, accepted the musician and turned to his brother -. Finno is helping me with the composition. He is also a musician, you know? He has a beautiful voice and I'm trying to convince him to sing with me at the next concert. But first I want us to make some recordings...  
\- I'm not sure it's convenient for you to try to change your style just to include me in your presentations, Maglor. It could affect your popularity and affect sales levels ...  
\- Chist! - Maglor jumped, with horrified expression -. See, Maedhros? He did it again! Every time I mention the idea, I get all this business verbiage and I think I'm listening to Caranthir. It's ... exasperating. You have to help me: explain that I am the owner of the studio, that the record company belongs to our family and that sales do not bother me.  
Maedhros cast a look of sympathy at Fingon, who shook his head imperceptibly.  
\- Maglor is right, Fingon -, the redhead began, slowly -. It's our company: father is not able to deny anything to any of his children. No elvish record company wanted to record music that could later be sold to humans and Maglor wanted his music to be available to everyone, regardless of race or social status. For that reason, we also have a studio: although father is the owner in essence, Maglor is the one who makes the decisions. However, - he turned in front of his brother, who frowned - I understand and support Fingon's opinion. Before making a decision of that caliber, you should assess the preferences of your followers. Maybe they do not feel comfortable if you add a second voice to your works.  
\- Daeron has accompanied me a lot of times ...  
\- Only in some concerts, never in recordings. If you want to give Fingon a chance, maybe you should ... let him record his own music.  
A movement of surprise from the other side of the table made him bite his tongue. Perhaps he had talked too much: it did not seem that Fingon was happy with his solution ... on the contrary of Maglor, whose silver eyes shone enthusiastically.  
\- We'll talk about that later -, replied the producer, preventing in time the musician was launched to make plans -. Lunch is here and then you have an appointment with Daeron. You promised to go to his audition in Menegroth.  
\- That idiot is lucky I appreciate him as much as I do,- grumbled Maglor, - because in no other way would he force me to endure the idiot of Thingol and his perfect wife. 

Almost an hour later, Maglor said goodbye to them to meet his friend. Maedhros watched him walk away and turned to Fingon.  
\- Do you want me to give you a lift? I have the car one block away.  
\- I'm going to Dorthonion - he informed calmly -. I have to pick up the boys at school and I have to take care of dinner tonight.  
\- You have many responsibilities - commented Maedhros as he walked to where he left the car -. My apartment is in Hithlum, so I make my way.  
\- I thought you all lived in your parents' house.  
\- We still have our rooms in Father's house - he nodded -. But Caranthir and I decided to become independent.  
\- Caranthir is the administrator, is not he?  
\- It is the one that controls the family economy -, smiled Maedhros -. With so many artistic geniuses in the family, we needed someone with their feet on the ground. Neither Father nor my other brothers have much head to stop at logistics. You see Maglor ...  
\- I've been trying to convince him for almost a week that we cannot ...  
\- I imagine: Maglor is as stubborn as our father. - He got into the car and opened the passenger door for Fingon, who slid into the seat with agility. - By the way, I'm sorry if I put you in an awkward situation by proposing that you record your own disc. I did not think you were excited about the idea ...  
\- It's not that, Maedhros ... can I call you by your name? - Maedhros barely managed to nod, fascinated by how wonderfully sensual his name sounded in that slightly grave, youthful voice. - I like to sing ... I love music, in fact. It's not ... it's not my passion like Maglor's case; but I used to be pretty good. My father and I were doing duets at all the family parties ... but then Aredhel ... well, she disappeared and ... everything changed in our lives. I have not sung since that time, except for my son. I was just explaining to Maglor how I imagined that part of a song should sound and the next second, he was screaming that we had to make a duet, to present ourselves at the concert he will do for the gala of your father's company ... Not even I think that if I liked the idea, I would go so far. - he concluded, turning to look out the window.  
\- Why? - Maedhros frowned. Fingon shook his head.  
\- I do not know. My father was not exactly happy when I told him that I had gotten a job as the music producer of Maglor Fëanorion. I think it's because of his political activities ... No offense, but Formenos Industries still refuses to hire human workers and some statements from your father have been anything but integrationist.  
\- There's no paying attention to much of what my father says, you know? - muttered the redhead, flushing -. Unfortunately, Formenos is directed by a Shareholders' Meeting whose president is my father; but they still have a voice and vote, and most are not supporters of integration. As for the opinions expressed by my father ... many times he does not think before speaking ...  
\- Maybe that's what puts my dad on the defensive -, shrugged Fingon -. Anyway, I do not mix in politics: that was going to be the work of my brother Turgon before his wife ... I am in favor of humans and elves having the same rights and sharing the world without differences; but I'm not going to start a political campaign for that. My father has very definite ideals and sometimes he himself is a little ... rigid about it; but I prefer not to contradict him.  
\- I get it. And I respect your position. Neither do I usually discuss my decisions with my father...  
\- Eh ... well, that was not what I meant -, replied the younger, ashamed -. My father and I argue quite often.  
\- Seriously? - Maedhros raised an eyebrow, amused -. I never would have imagined that someone would dare to face Fingolfin Indisirion. He's so ... **adamantine**.  
\- You have no fucking idea -, Fingon laughed -. My father can make you regret having been born with a look. I've seen veterans of the Great War babble and pout in his presence...  
\- Your father is a veteran of the war too, right? - remembered Maedhros, remembering what he read on the Internet about the well-known lawyer.  
\- It was there where he got his integrationist ideas -, agreed the music producer, thoughtful -. Before that he was an elitist as well, a snob who considered humans, dwarves and hobbits poorly made versions of the Eldar; but in the war, his vision changed. Elves die just like other races, you know? That's what he says. And he also says that he saw humans give samples of a courage that many elves do not possess. He states that ... during the war, many senior elf soldiers abandoned their posts and left to take refuge in the Safe Zones - Valinor, Beleriand, Menegroth, Nargothrond ... - but humans rarely abandoned their positions. Death did not scare them and my father learned from them. It's what he told us when we were little.  
\- Yes, you were not born when the Great War, right?  
\- My parents had not even married. Only when he came back did he dare to ask my mother for marriage.  
\- For the Valar! Your father was horribly young when he went to war.  
\- He was halfway through his law studies - said Fingon -. Let me here. Gil's school is two blocks away.  
\- I can take you there.  
\- You should deviate ...  
\- It will be worth it to enjoy your company two more blocks.  


As soon as he had said it, Maedhros wished the earth would swallow him up. What the hell was he thinking? The elf had just told him that he would never record a disc with Maglor because he was the son of Fëanor Finwion, an apparent defender of racial purity, and he flirted with him. What made him think that Fingon would accept his interest while also being Fëanor's son? The glass of wine he drank at lunch must have affected his brain.  
Fortunately, the huge classical building that housed the primary school appeared in front of them just as the silence became uncomfortable do. He braked softly.  


\- Thank you, Maedhros -, smiled Fingon while releasing the seatbelt -. It has been a pleasure to enjoy your company. – He opened the door; but hesitated a second. - And I would love for us to talk again. Without you having to appeal to Maglor to invite me to lunch. Just ... let me know when you're available.  
Maedhros opened his mouth to babble an answer; but Fingon was already moving away towards the school. The older of the Fëanorions could not contain the idiotic smile that curled his lips, watching him walk with that agility that highlighted his muscular anatomy.


	4. Chapter 4

Fingolfin handed his coat to the young elf who greeted him at the door of the restaurant and he let himself be guided to the table reserved for him. Long before he arrived, he spotted Anairë.

His ex-wife was, with all certainty, the most beautiful creature in the place. Her dark hair was pulled back to the top of her head, undressing her elegant white collar and highlighting her already respectable stature. Tonight, Anairë wore one of her own models: the dress fit her torso like a second skin to open like a spiral of silver foam around her beautiful legs. Instead of braces, two strings of blue pearls circled her throat to descend from behind to the neckline that undressed her back.

Instinctively, Fingolfin checked his clothes at a glance, making sure he had made the right choice. Although Írime had assured him twice that he looked great, Fingolfin knew that the opinion of his favorite sister was not always reliable. Írime used to see the best of him, ignoring his many faults.

\- Sorry to have made you wait - he said by way of greeting and apology while taking a seat, and found that Anairë had asked for a bottle of champagne to pay for the wait. - You've been here for a long time?

\- A quarter of an hour maybe -, she shrugged -. I was about to call you to find out if our dinner was being maintained or if you had changed your mind.

Fingolfin waited for the clerk to fill his cup and retire to answer, slowly:

\- I had a last minute meeting with the team. The beginning of the electoral campaign is approaching and we have to redouble our efforts. In the last elections we lost some seats in the Council. But that topic does not excite you - he added with a smile when he noticed that she was slightly pressing her lips painted red. - I'm sorry again. We ask for the menu?

\- I thought we could repeat the menu on the night you asked me for marriage - Anairë suggested, suddenly concentrating on the bubbles in her glass.

Fingolfin suppressed the gesture of astonishment: Anairë seemed almost shy in that moment and that was something that he never associated with her. Her ex was a confident female, beautiful and very capable. In her first years as a designer, she had faced many difficulties since the elven society had the established roles for both sexes after millennia of existence and definitely, although the females were reserved for manual labor, more intellectual and artistic works were usually reserved for males. At no time Anairë had been intimidated: she kept insisting, presenting her designs as soon as she appeared ... she even organized her first fashion show ... until it was impossible to continue ignoring her. Even King Ingwë had to admit that she deserved to make her dream come true, and that she was devilishly good.

Fingolfin had loved the determination of the female in front of him as much as her physical beauty; but their ways had been separated for a long time.

At this moment, however, the politician simply called the waiter and detailed the menu they wanted, as well as the specific details of how the lady preferred meat and desserts. When he finished and turned to her, he met Anairë's amazed smile.

\- You have not forgotten anything -, she pointed out, shaking her head -. It is one of your many qualities.  
\- They were more than fifty years of marriage, Anairë; I can remember your preferences without effort.  
\- You can remember the weaknesses and strengths of everyone you know without effort: that is what makes you a fearsome opponent in the courtroom.  
\- I'll take that as a compliment, even though it sounded like an accusation. Now, my dear, what is the purpose of this meeting? Although I love spending time with you, remembering our happy years, I know you did not ask me for this meeting for the pleasure of seeing me.  
\- You can also be horribly abrupt just to unbalance your opponent -, Anairë bit her lips.  
\- We are not opponents, Anairë.  
\- And, what are we, Nolvo?

Fingolfin was not impressed by the sweet tone of her voice. He, too, knew his ex's tactics too well.

\- Friends. And we have three children in common. I guess you want to talk to me about one of them. Have you received news from Turgon?  
\- Not in the last six months. And you?  
\- He talked to Fingon about a week ago. I think Finrod joined him in Italy. I thought maybe you would have fresher news: he was always closer to you.  
\- And, nevertheless, he preferred to stay with you when we divorced.  
\- He had just become widowed and it was more comfortable not to make decisions. - He waited to be served the entree to added, calmly: - Making decisions was never his forte.  
\- Idril could have stayed with me perfectly. It would have been the most ... adequate.  
\- I admit it; but I'm not going to part with my granddaughter now. Idril has an almost normal life, except for the absence of his father, and is about to enter adolescence. A change would not suit her.  
\- I'm not trying to convince you to give me the girl, - she hastened to clarify. - Do not get defensive or attack me with psychological arguments. Who I want to talk about ... is Aredhel.  
Instead of reassuring him, her statement only tensed Fingolfin more. His fingers twitched around the fork and with gestures too controlled, took the glass to almost empty it in one gulp.  
\- What happens with Aredhel? - he demanded in a low voice.  
\- You know what happens with our daughter, Nolofinwë -, she became impatient -. I have not seen her in more than eight months. I do not know how she is ...  
\- She is fine.  
\- And I do not know anything about the boy either ...  
\- Maeglin is wonderfully well. He is a strong, healthy and very calm child. He looks like Turgon when he was a boy.  
\- Are you calling him by the name he gave him ...?  
\- It's the name he got used to. We will not change it now.  
\- All right. But as for Aredhel ... I want to see her, Nolvo. I have the right! It's my daughter!  
\- I'm not denying your right to see her, Anairë. It's Aredhel who does not want to see anyone and I'm not going to force her. I promise that as soon as she is ready, you will be the first person to visit her.  
\- She needs me! I'm female, like her and I can understand ...  
\- No!  


The waiter stopped in his tracks, without reaching the table and several nearby diners turned to observe them. Anairë smiled, blushing and Fingolfin sniffed to calm himself. With a slight gesture, he indicated to the clerk that there was no problem and the boy hurried to remove the dishes before crossing a warning glance with his partner who brought the next dish on the menu.  


Once they returned to have relative intimacy, Fingolfin leaned slightly on his plate to say, quietly:  
- **You cannot understand anything** , Anairë. **No one** can understand what our daughter lived. Sometimes I do not even recognize her. That ... monster stole her innocence, her youth, her life ... and if I have not looked for him to tear him to pieces with my own hands, it is because she does not want to know anything about it. I know that you love Aredhel with all your soul; but you cannot understand what happened to her, what she feels ... neither can any of us understand him. Aredhel is strong ... she is our daughter ... and she will come out of this; but she needs time. For now, all she need is her child and to know that she is safe. If the only way I have that certainty means that I have to prevent even his brothers from seeing her, I will. I'm sorry, Anairë; but I cannot allow you to see Aredhel for now. - He took a deep breath and said, with a light tone: - Tell me: I heard that you are going to open a chain of stores in Menegroth. I cannot believe you've sneaked under the skin of those classicists. Did Melian give you her blessing?  


Anairë would have wanted to return to the previous topic, insist on seeing Aredhel, in the certainty that her presence would do well to her beloved child; but she knew from experience that it was impossible to move Fingolfin when he made a decision. Assuming a relaxed attitude, she dedicated herself to telling her ex-husband how to get an interview with Melian thanks to the intervention of Galadriel, the daughter of her best friend Eärwen.  


It was after ten when the couple left the restaurant, talking as animatedly as they used to do it in the first years of marriage. Fingolfin offered to take her home; but she said she could take a taxi without problems.  
\- Four years of separation have not made me forget the lousy driver you are, Nolofinwë Arakáno,- she joked, raising an eyebrow.  


Fingolfin laughed and asked the doorman to call a taxi. When the boy left to fulfill his request, the politician turned around with the intention of resuming the conversation; but the look which his ex-wife gave him drowned the words in his throat.  


Anairë raised her gray eyes to Fingolfin's face and smiled with sad tenderness.  
\- You have not changed anything, Nolvo, - she declared, sweetly. - You are still the elf who won me with only one look.  
\- I use glasses to read, Anairë - he confessed, without letting the nostalgia transpire in his voice.  
\- And I guess you look marvelously.  
\- Fingon says I look like an old human. I'm not sure he does it as a compliment.  


The taxi stopped beside them and Anairë approached Fingolfin to brush her cheek with her lips; but at the last moment, she turned aside until she kissed the corner of his mouth.  
\- We should do this again. - she suggested .  
\- Whenever you want -, he nodded and opened the car door.  


Still Fingolfin stayed a few minutes on the sidewalk, looking down the street, after the taxi with Anairë disappeared down the avenue. Finally, he turned and asked the valet to bring him the car; but the moment he said it, a limousine stopped in front of the restaurant. Fingolfin frowned as he recognized the red eight-pointed star that adorned the door like a coat of arms. 

\- Forget it, boy – he said to the valet -. I will go find it myself.  


He made his way to the establishment's parking lot - just around the corner - but he wasn’t fast enough to leave before the limousine door opened and a she-elf with long blond curls emerged wearing an elegant red dress. Immediately behind, two elves dressed in costly dark suits descended. Fingolfin dodged them, without looking up.  


\- Nolofinwë,- called a voice and Fingolfin stopped to turn halfway to the speaker.  
\- Good evening, Mr. Finwion - said the lawyer, in a casual tone.  


The owner of Formenos Industries - and the most famous engineer and alchemist of all the Elvish territories - stood by the car, observing him with ill-concealed surprise. As always, Fëanor wore the traditional Elvish outfit - black pants with varnishes boots, open red tunic to show off the white embroidered collar shirt and dark vest - and wore his long black hair braided in Noldorin style, with ruby and coral beads sealing the numerous braids at the back.  


Fingolfin, on the other hand, wore a simple navy blue suit, consisting of trousers and jacket over a white shirt and black tie with three embroidered stars. Compared to the businessman - and if it were not for his pointed ears, that the hair, pulled back in a simple ponytail at the nape of his neck, uncovered- he would pass for a human too tall and handsome, nothing more. \- What are you doing here? - demanded Fëanor Finwion, taking a step in his direction.  
\- Look for my car -, Fingolfin replied, indicating with his thumb over his shoulder -. Have a good night, Mr. Finwion; your companions wait.  
\- Have you already had dinner? - Fëanor insisted. - I knew Aredhel came back.  
\- I did not receive your greeting card - commented Fingolfin, sarcastically -. It must have gotten lost in the mail. And yes, I've already eaten, sir; thank you very much for your interest. As always, it has been an ... unspeakable pleasure to see you.  


And without giving Fëanor another chance to answer, he turned around and hurried to find the car.  


As soon as he sat down at the wheel, he gripped it with both hands and rested his head on his knuckles. For a few minutes, he remained motionless; but at last, he let out a sound similar to a choked sob and his shoulders were shaken by tremors.


	5. Chapter 5

Fingon reread the message on his cell phone and a smile parted his lips. Maedhros invited him to dinner on Friday. That promised ... though he was not sure how his father would take it when he knew who his date was. Well, at least he was not dating his contractor, he thought for his inner self. On the other hand, it was not even sure they’d go past dinner, so he did not have to worry about his father's opinion at the moment. _He really expected them to get past that first dinner_ , he admitted to himself before heading to the room where Gil was playing animatedly with his two-year-old cousin.

The young father contemplated them with tenderness. Despite being only six years old, Gil behaved responsibly, taking care of his cousin and worrying about him being safe and entertained before attending to his own fun. Gil looked a lot like his paternal grandfather, recognized Fingon: the same black curls, the same blue silver eyes ... and the same sense of innate responsibility, as if it were his duty to attend to the welfare of all.

After a few minutes, he pulled away from the door jamb and uncrossed his arms.

\- How about we pick up all this and prepare for the bathroom? It's almost time for dinner - he announced with a smile.

Gil raised his face to him, holding back a pout; but he only nodded. Maeglin, on the other hand, jumped up and ran towards him.

\- Up - ordered without hesitation. Fingon smiled and bent down to pick him up.

\- I'm going to leave Maeglin with his mom and come back to help you pick up, okay, Gil?

Gil nodded and got up to pick up the closest toys.

Fingon went to the other side of the house with his nephew astride his hip. The boy played with his earrings and hummed one of the songs that Idril taught him from school. The girl also spent a lot of time with her younger cousin, teaching her everything she did in school and singing the songs she learned in music lessons.

Fingon knocked on Aredhel's door and waited for him to answer. When he did not hear any sound coming from inside, he called again.  
\- She not,- Maeglin crooned, shaking his head.  
\- How do you say? - his uncle asked, frowning. The boy shook his head again.  
\- Mom’s not. It was.

Fingon ignored the warning sign that shot in his head and grabbed the doorknob. The door opened effortlessly and the elf entered the bedroom in semi-darkness. A glance was enough to verify that the bed was unoccupied. Without releasing the elfling, he reached for the switch and turned on the light. The room was empty. For a second, he stared at the open window as fear climbed inside him until his throat tightened. He left Maeglin on the floor, telling him not to move and went to the window to look out.

A sigh of relief shook his chest as he did not find his little sister's body on the lawn under the window; However, he immediately understood that Aredhel had escaped and was in the streets, alone, lost ...

He returned to Maeglin and loaded him back to go back to Gil. After leaving the two children together in bed, in the care of the cook, he picked up the cell phone to call his father.

.....................

Curufin started walking with his hands in his pockets. It was the first time that he had gone out since the divorce and, as expected, things did not go well. The girl was beautiful and smart; but it was unlikely that anyone would replace Calemmireth. He had only agreed to go to that dinner that Celegorm coordinated with the cousin of his last conquest to prevent his brother from bothering him.

He had gone to dinner by taxi so now he had to find one to return home; but instead of returning immediately, he decided to walk to clear his mind. Celebrimbor would be fine: Fëanor had promised to return home early to take care of the boy and Caranthir was also at home that night.   
It is true that Curufin and Caranthir did not make the best of the leagues; but his intractable brother was surprisingly good with the children. Curufin guessed that staying in their father's house for a few days was Caranthir's way of apologizing for having argued with Fëanor a week before returning from his trip. Caranthir, like so many previous occasions, had not hesitated to tell his father that it was a terrible decision to hire an incompetent girl just to please the even more incompetent Celegorm. At any other time, Curufin would have come to the defense of his beloved brother and his idolized father; but since Calemmireth had left everything seemed inexplicably laborious and undeserving of his effort.

He looked up at the building when he realized that he had finished before his old high school. It was a sumptuous building of the early Noldorin style of the First Age and Curufin loved the façade with its colossal colonnade and its large stained glass windows. On that stairway, moreover, he had declared his love to Calemmireth.  
He stopped, frowning, when he saw a silhouette in front of the pink marble steps.   
Interesting: the building was protected by a fence imbued with power and only a student or graduate knew how to open it to access the campus. 

Intrigued, he approached the gate and pronounced the key word, brushing his ring by the false bolt. The gate trembled slightly and opened without a sound. As soon as he had crossed it, it closed again behind him in total silence. 

Curufin crossed the campus to the staircase, without losing sight of the silhouette standing before the building. As he got closer, he could see that it was a girl: she wore what appeared to be a nightgown, blue and red striped socks, and wore the long black hair loose. There were no dormitories at the Calacirya High School, so the girl had walked there, Curufin realized. 

A few meters from her, he saw that she was leaning her head on one shoulder in a fake pose and humming something in a low voice. The Calacirya hymn: definitely, a former student. 

\- Hello? - He ventured cautiously -. You should not be here, you know? It's ... 

The voice caught in his throat as she turned in front of him. For a second, Curufin considered the possibility of having a hallucination. That elf was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen: it seemed like the start of his teenage dreams!   
The thick blue-black curls framed the slightly elongated face, with marked features, mouth full of the color of roses in spring and huge blue eyes that the moon showed. The silver light accentuated her pallor and turned the silk of her nightgown into an ethereal substance that drew the soft curves of her body. He was young, much younger than Curufin suspected by his stature ... and _she was beautiful_. 

\- It's my school - she answered, without raising her voice, forcing the Fëanorion to lean slightly to listen to her. 

“Another charm”, Curufin acknowledged. The nymph's voice was soft, slightly hoarse; it lacked the bell musicality that Calemmíreth’s had; but it was warm ... it was ... like the sound of fire at home during a winter night. 

\- Did you study here? - He inquired only for the pleasure of provoking an answer. She nodded silently and looked sadly back at the facade.   
\- I want to go back,- she confessed. - I want to graduate. I want to go back to that day ... erase these five years ... erase his voice, his face, his hands ... I want to erase everything. - She kept silent; but suddenly, horror shook her features. - No! Not all. - She turned to face Curufin and grabbed him by the arms in despair. He just managed to hold her before she started to babble, frantic: - I do not want to erase Lómion. Not him. Never him. He's my love, my treasure, my soul ... I could not live without him. Lómion is my life. I do not want to erase him. If I could erase everything else and keep him ... - The pain softened the expression of her beautiful face and a smile of defeat barely curved her mouth -. But I can’t, right? I can’t keep the son if I erase the father. 

\- No -, he agreed, letting himself be flooded by the sweet resignation of the stranger -. You cannot delete one part and keep the other. I am sorry. 

She nodded, still smiling and closed her eyes. 

Curufin just had time to take a step and hug her before it collapsed in her chest. 

He observed the façade of the Calacirya High School, noting the image of Mandos, master of the dead and wisdom, and patron par excellence of almost all educational centers. Maybe he should thank Him for tonight after all. 

..................... .

Maedhros opened the door of his apartment and prepared the sofa with several cushions so that Curufin could accommodate the vanished young girl in it. 

The redhead watched his brother move solicitously to put the girl as comfortable as possible before covering her with the blanket folded on the arm of the furniture. 

\- So ... she has nothing with her to identify her. - He reviewed what Curufin explained when he called him on his cell phone.   
\- She's in sleepwear, Maedhros - the youngest repeated, with logic.   
\- Can you explain again how she ended up in your arms? 

Curufin sighed and returned to tell him what happened from the moment he left the dinner that went wrong with Celegorm's friend. 

\- I could not call a taxi with her in that state: imagine what the taxi driver would think. Then I remembered that you live near Calacirya and I thought it was better to call you than Celegorm ...   
\- I can guess why - Maedhros narrowed his eyes -. Curufin, we need to know who she is, where she lives ... Her family will be looking for her, worried ... Maybe she has a husband who right now ...   
\- I do not think so. Yes, she has a son; but I do not think she lives with her husband. At least, I do not think she wants to go back to him.   
\- Why are you so sure? - Maedhros frowned. 

When Curufin bit his lower lip, remaining silent, the eldest of the Fëanorion gave him the look he reserved for him when he was an elfling and got into trouble. After a few minutes in which Curufin watched the girl's face to make sure that the fading had passed into a deep sleep, Maedhros went to the phone. 

\- We'll have to report to the police,- he said, in a atonic voice.   
\- Wait! - His brother stopped him. - I know that there is no husband because she said that ... 

In a few words he transmitted to his brother the ramblings of the girl, as well as her recognition as a student of the Calacirya High School. The data provided was sufficient for Maedhros to search for his cell phone and open the Internet for a quick search. When she found what he was looking for, his gaze went from the picture on the screen to the girl asleep on his couch several times. 

\- I know who she is - he admitted, extending the phone to Curufin.  
\- Aredhel Fingolfiniel? - the younger was insured.   
\- She has a family resemblance, now that I look at her well. - He made a face -. Hells! She has a **strong** family resemblance.   
\- Do we have to call his father now? - Curufin pouted and Maedhros remembered when he was an elfling too spoiled by the almighty Fëanor Finwion.   
\- I'll call her brother, not her father; but yes, Atarinkë, we have to call her family now. They will be going out of their mind after everything that happened. 

For the moment, Curufin only nodded and returned to concentrate on observing Aredhel, without asking why his older brother had the number of Fingolfin Indisirion's son. 

When Maedhros finished speaking with Fingon and assuring him that Aredhel was fine, asleep on his sofa and without any more damage than dirty socks, the redhead found Curufin combing the girl's hair and singing to her in a low voice. That was something he would have filmed if it was not alarming.


	6. Chapter 6

Fingolfin closed the door of his office behind him and went straight to the green marble table in the corner of the room. He poured a shot of whiskey and emptied it in one swipe. He returned to serve himself ... but this time he filled the glass to the edges.  
He collapsed on the sofa that occupied the side wall and for a long time, just drank with his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

He hated the ceiling of his office: all white, without details of moldings or colors. It reminded him of his child's room ... before it was adorned by the stars. He should paint this ceiling like that of his room, after his brother decided that he deserved heaven. Too bad that his brother's love was so fragile that it did not survive the first difficulty.

\- Shit - Fingolfin grumbled when he raised the glass to his lips and found it empty; but instead of going for more whiskey, he settled down, lying down on the sofa and continued to watch the ceiling he hated.

_"What will you give me for my anniversary, toron?"_  
_"Whatever you want, little freak."_  
_"Then, I want ... a star! Will you give me one star, toron? "_  
_" One star? Do not be silly, brat. I will give you all the stars. "_  


Fingolfin rubbed his clenched eyelids, furious with himself for feeling nostalgic after so many years. Nostalgia! The habit of using euphemisms was filtering into his subconscious, he mocked himself.  
\- Shit - he repeated, with a deep sigh.

..................

Fingon looked at the door of his father's office. He felt the impulse to call and enter to converse with him; but at the same time, he felt the deep rejection of his father, as if he had closed himself in and did not want to be bothered. It had happened before: when the disappearance of Aredhel and when the divorce. The young Noldo was not sure that it was only fright when he learned that Aredhel had disappeared again, which provoked this reaction in his father.  
From always, Fingolfin had shown ... certain reserve towards Fëanor Finwion and his businesses, behavior that of course extended to his children and close friends; but Fingon had had the opportunity to testify to the deep rejection that the famous artist and engineer caused him tonight.

First, when his son informed him that he knew where Aredhel was and that she was safe, Fingolfin had breathed a sigh of relief; but when listening in _whose_ company she was, it was as if they showed him the door to hell. Fingolfin did not hear any reason: he immediately drove to the address that Fingon gave him and he barely managed to maintain enough urbanity to ring the bell and come forward to demand coldly that his daughter be returned. Neither Fingon nor his father missed the solicitous attitude of Curufin with the girl. Strange, is not it, as in less than a month two of Fingolfin's children had gone to meet the children of Fëanor.

Fingon bit his lower lip: it was not like he could face his father and ask him what the real reason he hated the businessman was. It could not be just because of political differences: Fingon had seen his father dine with elves who accused him of hypocrisy and opportunism! He could ask his mother; but somehow, that sounded treasonous.  
The young elf moved away from the door of his father's office to go to his room. After taking a shower and when he was sitting on the edge of the bed, he saw that he had a text message on his cell phone. It was from Maedhros, who expected Aredhel to be fine in spite of everything. With a smile, Fingon dialed.

\- Hi -, answered Maedhros in a clear voice, showing that he was still awake. - All fine?  
\- She’s sleeping. I was going to call you tomorrow to thank you and invite you to lunch; but you took the lead  
\- I was worried. Curufin does not usually rescue maidens at midnight frequently.  
\- I hope so - frowned Fingon, dropping on the pillows -. It would be ... unpleasant to think that you usually call strangers every night to tell them that their sisters are asleep on your couch.  
\- I do not usually call strangers for any reason. By the way, your father ... did not seem very ... comfortable.  
\- Oh yeah. I apologize for that. I mentioned you his reservations about your father and knowing that Aredhel was with the children of Fëanor Finwion brought out its adamantine part.  
\- I guess the way my brother was around your sister did not help much, really. I do not know what the hell happened to Curufin: I had never seen him so ... identified with anyone.  
\- Hey! It's good for me. Your brother rescued Aredhel and took care of her. Eru knows what anyone else would have done in his place.  
\- I want to think that my little brother would have behaved cavalierly in any circumstance; but this time he was too ... kind.

Fingon bit his lower lip: of course he had noticed. Curufin - who, by the way, looked too much like his father for the comfort of everyone - had not left Aredhel even after Fingolfin identified himself: as if it was necessary! All of Fingolfin's children seemed to have been copied in the same mold, to the point that people recognized them in the street immediately. None of the three inherited the golden hair of Grandma Indis or the silver eyes of Anairë. Even Maeglin, despite his dark eyes, resembled his grandfather as only those who carry the same blood can look like. 

The thought brought the young man back to the Fëanorions: Maglor and Curufin resembled each other - black hair, silver eyes, sharp features -; however, Maedhros seemed totally out of place with those seductive red curls and huge green-flecked eyes, and pale skin ... 

\- Fingon? - Called the voice of the "seductive redhead", insecure.  
\- Yes? - Fingon replied, with a slight smile curling his mouth .  
\- I thought you had fallen asleep -, sighed the other.  
\- I was thinking ... you look like your mother, right?  
\- Y-yes. Why ...?  
\- Curufin looks a lot like your father. And Maglor too ...  
\- I look more like my mother's family. The twins are also redheads, although they did not inherit the curls and Celegorm is blond. Well, something more than blond: he inherited it from my paternal grandmother, Míriel. 

Fingon frowned. 

\- Oh, I had forgotten. - he mused.  
\- What?  
\- That you are royalty. 

The comment remained in the air. Fingon wondered if he had said something stupid: after all, since the death of Finwë Noldóran, the Noldor had accepted the government of Ingwë Ingweron, Supreme King of all Elves. Fëanor Finwion did not claim the crown that belonged to his father and little or nothing was said about the second wife of the deceased king. It was probable that she and her children died during the Great War that took much of the territory of Beleriand. 

\- I forget it often - commented Maedhros after a few minutes in silence.  
\- I’m sorry. It was ... an indiscreet comment. So, will we have lunch tomorrow?  
\- I'll be happy. I can pick you up near the studio.  
\- I can approach Formenos, don’t worry. I plan to pick up the motorbike at workshop in the morning. Rest and ... thank you very much ... highness.  
\- I cannot believe that…! - Maedhros began, in an offended tone; but on hearing Fingon's laughter, he laughed on the other side. - See you tomorrow. 

Fingon remained lying down, staring at the cell phone screen for a few minutes. He needed a bath, he decided at last; but he did not move, thinking of his father's expression when he saw Curufin kneeling beside Aredhel.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish politics (something like that):  
> Of course, Ingwë Ingweron is the Supreme King of all the Elves and each kingdom had a minor king or leader: Finwë of the Noldor, Olwë of the Teleri ... the same as we already know.  
> At the time of the story, the Noldor have been subordinated to Ingwë directly since the son of Finwë resigned the throne after his father was killed.
> 
> * Vanima means beautiful fem.

Maedhros consulted the watch on his wrist and closed the laptop as he stood up. Fingon had sent him a message two hours earlier informing him that he would be arriving at about one o'clock and he responded by indicating the cafeteria two blocks from the company. A sixth sense warned him that it was not yet time for Fingon to run into his father. He pouted: he was not even sure if the day would come when Fingon and Fëanor would bump into each other, really. Something inside him rebelled against that thought. He was not the most chaste of his brothers - that was Curufin, who had had only one girlfriend in his entire life -; but neither did he get used to getting tangled up with whatever boy crossed his path. Well, it had already been a battle for his parents to accept his preference in sex matters. For a moment, he wondered how Fingon would take it: in a finale, he was also the firstborn. Would Fingolfin be as rigid as Fëanor in that regard? The matter had not been his tastes, but the fact that the eldest son was expected to give continuity to the lineage. At that time, Maedhros was even the heir to the Noldorin crown behind his father, since Vanima's son was never recognized as a royal prince.

The young elf realized that he had not thought about his father’s half-siblings for a long time. He had few memories of them. His father had left the royal palace after getting married and on the rare occasions when they went to visit the King - when Maedhros was still very young - they hardly coincided with the second family of Finwë. Then, Fëanor was almost twenty years without visiting the palace and had hardly returned to approach his father when the attack occurred.

Maedhros avoided remembering those years after the murder of his grandfather. The event unleashed the Great War and for a long time life wasn’t normal. Fëanor, of course, went to war as a prince and as a son; but in one of the first actions he was seriously injured and sent back home. Maedhros suspected that his father never recovered from his wounded pride. After almost thirty years of war, and thanks to the Tripartite Coalition, the Uruk Forces had finally been defeated, their main leaders seized and peace returned to the Elvish territories. However, at that time, the Princess Consort Vanima and her two children simply vanished from the face of the earth.

Fëanor claimed that he did not care what happened to them, that they were not his family; but on one occasion - long before they parted - Maedhros had heard his mother yell at her husband: "Maybe you should look for him and fix things, so you stop torturing yourself and torturing me."   
Maedhros knew snippets of family history. Just pieces and none fit. For example, Fëanor was proud of his ancestry - he never forgot that he was the son of a king - but he had renounced the crown when Ingwë offered it to him. Was it, perhaps, because he thought he had not been able to protect his father and did not deserve his crown? Or had it to do with half-siblings who disappeared, probably lost when Beleriand was sacked during the invasion? Did Fëanor know with certainty that his stepmother and his two brothers had died when he left them to their fate after Finwë's death?

\- Are you going out?

Caranthir's voice took him out of his abstraction. He was standing in front of the elevator and his brother had just emerged from it.

Maedhros raised an eyebrow: Caranthir was certainly the cleverest of the seven; but nobody who saw him would believe it that way. Caranthir Fëanorion - dressed in dark denim overalls and heavy work boots, twisted hair in a bun at the back of his head and hands stained with coal - had all the appearance of the humblest of the workers in the family’s company.

\- Mother would shout at you for hours if she saw you in that state in the middle of the main offices - said the eldest.  
\- Well, how lucky that she does not come around here so as not to trip over dad. Are you going out?  
\- I have a ... a commitment to lunch.

Caranthir studied him with his piercing catlike eyes. Of all the children of the marriage, he was the only one who inherited the totally green eyes of the maternal family; but combined with the brown skin and the black hair of the paternal side.

\- You called Maglor’s producer - he concluded after a few minutes of observation. Maedhros blushed like a teenager.  
\- How…? Why…?  
\- You're transparent like a crystal glass. What a shame, Nelyafinwë Maitimo - the youngest mocked, raising one of his thick eyebrows -. Go, have lunch, be happy and then come back so we can discuss father’s new project.  
\- Did you already study it?  
\- I do not want to be the only one who always says “no” to our father's dreams. - He shrugged as he passed his brother to go to his office at the end of the hall.  
\- Where are you going to lunch? - Maedhros shouted, stopping the elevator with a hand. Caranthir turned around, still walking.   
\- I'm not crazy to participate in your first date.  
\- It's not a date!  
\- Neither I am a merchant …and, as you see, it works quite well. Have fun, Mae; you need to do it   
\- You too, - the older laughed and stepped into the elevator.   
Caranthir grimaced and turned back to enter his office. He took off his boots and went to the door that led to the bathroom while he opened his overalls. The phone rang with a definitely human tune and Caranthir ran to fetch it with clothes rolled on his hips.   
\- Hello -, he answered, dropping into the leather chair and a smile parted his lips -. Do we have telepathy? I was going to call you in a moment ... I swear! I was just going to prepare the bathroom for ... - He raised his eyebrows, amused as the other person said something. - It's okay: I'm a liar; but I was still going to call you.  
…………………….  
Maedhros looked up to see the blue and black Harley Davidson that stopped in front of the cafeteria. The Fëanorion took a few seconds to understand that the elf that descended from the motorcycle was Fingon.  
The music producer took off his helmet and ran his hand through his hair, watering it even more, before starting to walk towards the establishment.  
Maedhros kept his eyes fixed on Fingon while the other stopped just crossing the threshold and scanned the tables with his eyes. Hells: Fingon was truly a beautiful male. The leather jacket, open at the front, showed a shirt of a human musical group and the black pants were lost in the rough boots adorned with pieces of metal.

The young businessman could not help but notice the looks that were fixed on the newcomer: at first, the elves present observed Fingon with disdain for his human attire, but immediately the expressions changed to the most complete admiration. Impulsively, Maedhros stood up and waved a hand to get the young 's attention. When Fingon noticed him, a warm smile lit up his face and he hurried around the tables to get to the Fëanorion. The glances followed him until they discovered who his companion was: then they all returned to their occupations quickly.

\- You could warn me - pointed Fingon, still smiling, while sitting.  
\- About what? - Maedhros was disconcerted.  
\- That I should wear a suit - the younger one raised an eyebrow and with a nod, indicated around him.

Maedhros looked around the room and saw that, indeed, Fingon stood out among the businessmen gathered for their costumes. And his beauty. Definitely more for his beauty than for ... was he a model?

\- Are you aware that your thoughts appear on your face very easily? – Fingon laughed, unable to hide the fun when his companion blushed until the color of his hair.  
\- I know: Caranthir tells me all the time. For that reason he is in charge of the negotiations. I’m sorry.  
\- Do not be sorry -, shook his head Fingon -. I'm flattered. Personally, I think you are the most beautiful creature in the world and every day I am happier to have gotten that job with your brother. - He pouted. - Although sometimes I feel the urge to behead him and throw his body to the river.  
\- We do not have a river -, Maedhros recalled, laughing. - Besides, what are you going to do with his head?  
\- Keep it as a trophy. I can drive to Doriath.  
\- On the Harley? I can take you in the car.

Both burst into laughter as the waitress approached them.

The lunch passed between jokes and anecdotes that had the many brothers of Maedhros as protagonists.  
Once outside the cafeteria, Maedhros consulted his watch.

\- I must return to work - he reported with discouragement -. It keeps our dinner this Friday, right?  
\- Totally. Should I dress formally? - Fingon asked, arching both eyebrows almost childlike.  
\- You do not like that much, huh?  
\- I do it often, for the sake of my father; but whenever I can avoid it, I prefer to use something more comfortable. It's ... my grandmother says it's my way of rebelling against my father.  
\- Does your grandmother force you to dress formally?  
\- No! - The only idea caused a burst of laughter in Fingon -. Who sees the beautiful Indis dressed in a spectacular Elvish outfit? Not at all. In fact, she herself is quite ... simple. It's more likely that you'll find her wearing jeans and a Rolling Stones shirt than finding her in any dress.

Maedhros opened his mouth to make a joke; but he closed it again, analyzing what Fingon had said and after a moment, he said:

\- Wait ... when you say "the beautiful Indis", do you mean Indis the painter? The one that never appears in public?  
\- Eh… yes? - accepted the other with guilty expression. - Do you know her work?  
\- Are you kidding? Caranthir has about ten of her paintings in his apartment!  
\- Wow! I need to meet your brother. Or, rather, my grandmother needs to know him: to see if he convinces her to leave the house from time to time.  
\- Does not she ever come out?  
\- Not even on certain dates, as far as I know. It's not that she needs it: her property has about twelve hectares of garden, with lake included ...  
\- I've never seen a picture of that.  
\- Nope. She always paints those palaces and huge parties. My aunt says it's not to forget.  
\- Your grandmother is of the nobility? - Maedhros frowned.  
\- Well, if she is, she has kept it well hidden for as long as I can remember. - He checked the wristwatch -. I have to go back to Maglor: do not blame me if tomorrow you find his body hanging from a study window. Can we keep talking about my grandmother on Friday?  
\- Done -, smiled the redhead, holding out a hand.  
Fingon raised an eyebrow - the one adorned by the silver piercing - and pushed himself on the tips of his feet to plant a kiss on the other's cheek.  
\- We agree about the time after - he said as he walked to the motorcycle, smiling mischievously at the blush that stained Maedhros face.  
…………………….  
Fingolfin walked to the window of his office and looked at the garden of the building.  
\- Hello, little sister -, he smiled when received a response to the call -. No, nothing happens ... why should something happen? Aredhel is fine and mom too ... Yes, I know we met less than fifteen days ago; but… Okay! Something does happen ... I think ... I think Fingon is dating Maedhros ... Yes, Lalwen, that Maedhros.


	8. Chapter 8

Fëanor unbuttoned the collar of his dark green tunic as he walked to his bedroom. Although it was not as big as the royal palace - now only respectable ruins - his house in Hithlum was wide enough so that everyone could have a life of their own without walking on top of each other. Both he and his children valued intimacy and that was why he had objected little when Caranthir decided to leave the house. However, that Maedhros followed the example of his younger brother had not sat down as well to the businessman.

Maedhros had always been the closest to him - his friend and his sustenance far more than his son. When Nerdanel decided that the constant tension in their marriage was too much for her, Fëanor was able to rely on his eldest son to move forward with the company and all his projects. Actually, Maedhros was the one who put sanity into his father's creativity. In general, Fëanor did not have time to worry about logistics and planning: the ideas came and went to everyone more pressing ... and the concern of how to put them into practice was not something he could deal with. It never had been, really.  
As a child, his father had let him go at his own pace: his genius could not be controlled. When he began to take care of bigger projects, Fëanor always had someone to take care of the boring details: Nerdanel, his father, maestro Rúmil ... _a little boy eager to help ..._

He stopped halfway down the corridor, his hand still on the ruby clasps of the traditional Elven robe.  
He could not think about that. It was not worth going back to old problems. Problems that were buried under the ruins of the royal palace. Or inside his father’s grave.  
He could not think about that again. He had wasted years worrying about someone who did not look back once, for someone who did not even want to explain himself, who did not seek to contact him, who ... _looked so devilishly good as if it had not been more than half a century since he slipped out of the home in the middle of the night!_

With a growl of rage, he turned and headed for the stairs. Better put to work on something to not think.

The half-open door of Curufin's room distracted him from his path. More than the open door, it was the music that came from the chamber that caught his attention.  
He leaned on the jamb, crossing his arms over his chest.

Curufin was sitting at the work table and seemed absorbed in some new project. The voice of Elemmírë sang the "Lost Hymn to Erinti", one of the first Elvish creations and the favorite song of Míriel. Fëanor used to put that song often enough when his children were kids, at the beginning of his marriage; but of all of them, only Curufin had become fond of the piece. The hymn was not exactly popular among the subjects of Ingwë Ingweron, since it referred to an exiled Valië and to times when the Eldar were less ... sophisticated.

But the best part of the scene was the fact that Curufin was working, something he had not done since Calemmireth asked for a divorce. Checking that his son was recovering filled Fëanor's heart with joy.

\- What do you do? - he asked, separating himself from the jamb and going to his son.  
\- Eh? - Curufin raised his head, turning half -. Oh! It is nothing special. Only ... an idea that occurred to me. Do you remember when we talked about it being ideal that, during the war, our people had communication devices that did not need energy and could not be tracked by the enemy?  
\- You were fifteen years old - raised an eyebrow Fëanor while resting a hand on the back of his son's chair.  
\- Well, I never stopped thinking about that. That is, there are the palantiri, of course; but a palantir weighs more than two kilos and we cannot give one to each soldier ...  
\- We're not at war, Curvo.  
\- N-no ... but we still depend on the mobile phone charger. Our soldiers do not need it now; nevertheless, many mothers and many lovers will want one of these.

Fëanor watched the silver bracelet with an intricate design of stars blooming on vines. To one side, there was a palantir and several sheets of paper showed the different designs that Curufin tried before deciding to work.

\- That is, you are going to turn the palantir into a bracelet for controlling mothers and sweet brides - he said.

Curufin snorted impatiently.

\- I will adapt the principle of the palantir to be able to use it. The most difficult thing is to work in synchronization: the palantiri are all interconnected: anyone who has one can communicate with others. That is not the goal of the bracelet: you have to be able to communicate only with whoever you want. I must find a way to weave a kind of barrier ... or identification system before allowing someone to access your device.  
\- Interesting.  
\- You did not think about that when doing the palantiri, right?  
\- It was not my objective to hide from anyone. And I did not plan that someone unwanted had one. - He looked at the bracelet again -. So ... many lovers are going to want one of these. Are you thinking about giving one to someone specific?  


Curufin tightened his lips while taking a quick look at the open laptop at one end of the table. –  


\- Not at the moment, - he denied hastily. - But maybe in the future...  


Fëanor was about to make a joke when his gaze was fixed on the laptop. The picture of a girl in high school uniform occupied the screen: a huge smile of happiness illuminated the youthful face and her blue eyes reflected all the joy of the world. Fëanor did not need a caption to know that this girl was Aredhel Fingolfiniel.  


…………………..  


\- How bad is it?  
Fingolfin looked up from the document he was reading to contemplate the young woman who sat in front of him.

Írime looked half the age she really was. Slender and with the delicate constitution of the Noldorin females, she could still pass by the young woman who had poured the punch on her boyfriend's head on the day of the wedding. Her curly hair was shoulder-length, causing her huge blue eyes to look more angelic.  
At that time, she was wearing a flowered dress with a wide skirt and a scarf over her shoulders.

\- Good afternoon, little sister - said Fingolfin -. How is my favorite nephew? Is he still fighting with Ecthelion or have they made amends? How is the clinic going? Many income?  
\- A lot of charity, little income. Glorfindel goes on to say that Ecthelion has to apologize first, so he continues to cry in the corners: I threatened to send him to a human military camp if the situation does not change in a week, - she said quickly and turned to the waitress. - A decaffeinated. Now, tell me how it is that Finno is dating the son of Fëanor.

Fingolfin turned the ring on his index finger for a few seconds.

\- In fact, Fingon is working as a Maglor’s producer. The other night Aredhel escaped from home and was ... rescued by Curufin, the fifth son of Fëanor, who took her to his brother's apartment, who called Fingon.

Írime watched him with a frown as he spoke. When Fingolfin finished speaking, she took a breath and turned to the waitress.

\- You know what, girl? Put me a very strong coffee and sugary sweets of those you have out there, - she said. - I'm going to need to be very awake for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erinti: Valië of love, beauty and music in earlier Tolkien's works. She doesn't appear in the published Silmarillion, but I love her anyway.


End file.
